


Makkachin has Makkachildren: A Love Story

by AKAuthor



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Drunk Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, M/M, Makkachin Lives (Yuri!!! on Ice), Makkachin is a girl, Mutual Pining, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Smitten Victor, Vicchan Lives, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Yuuri moves to Russia, maybe some smut, no beta we die like men, the drama is dog based, theres dog love in here, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28789008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKAuthor/pseuds/AKAuthor
Summary: Vicchan lives and Yuuri skates his way into a traineeship under Yakov Feltsman in Saint Petersburg - and right into an apartment next door to Viktor, the most smitten man on the planet.While their owners obliviously fumble around each others feelings instead of fumbling around somewhere else, Vicchan and Makkachin have a love affair fit only for the history books and big screen.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Vicchan (Yuri!!! on Ice), Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Makkachin & Vicchan (Yuri!!! on Ice), Makkachin & Victor Nikiforov, Makkachin/Vicchan (Yuri!!! on Ice), Yakov Feltsman & Katsuki Yuuri, Yakov Feltsman & Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 19
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, I don't really know what I'm doing but I appreciate you reading this all the same.

The news of the past three weeks at the Saint Petersburg Sports Champions Club had been nothing but a continuous buzz that trailed after Yakov, chattered between Mila and Georgi, spat about by Yuri, and sighed lovingly by Viktor. 

A new skater was joining the rink. 

Perhaps this by itself was not noteworthy news, but the new skater was not Russian - he was Japanese, and as Yakov only coached the most promising Russian skaters, he’d been dogged about his decision since it had been quietly announced to his skaters. 

The Grand Prix Final had been much like others for Yakov, who only really noted the revolving door of top skaters that changed yearly to compete against his Viktor - and Giacometti, who he would admit, had talent, even if it was something from a Pornhub B-side.  
Until Celestino Cialdini let his skater out on the ice. 

Celestino and Yakov were familiar enough, though Celestino had been working with younger skaters for the past few years and thus their paths only reliably crossed at junior competitions, or smaller senior ones. 

Seeing him at the Grand Prix Final was a surprise, but his skater was even more so. Trembling like a newborn fawn but resolute with a stiff upper lip, Yuuri Katsuki from Japan was almost unnoteworthy off of the ice.  
On the ice however, he flew.

His jumps were sparse and rather shy, Yakov thought, compared to his skaters who all threw themselves around on the ice with recklessness bordering on suicidal. But his step sequences, his spins and his artistry, the things Yakov struggled to nail into the heads of his own lot, were remarkable. 

Katuski came off the ice sweaty and relieved, proudly ushered to the Kiss and Cry so that he could receive his scores on camera. His technical score was on the low side for a Grand Prix series event, particularly the final when other skaters tend to ramp up their routines, but his PCS was more than enough to make up for it and earn him a respectable spot on the leaderboard. 

Yakov predicted as much, and while Katsuki had shown more emotion on the ice than Yuri had ever managed (barring rage) his short program score wouldn’t be enough to keep him on the upper end of the table, not with Giacometti heating up the ice two skaters later, or with Viktor stepping out after him. 

Resolving to watch Katsuki closely at the free programs the next day, Yakov turned back to his cluster of skaters. Viktor was in his own world, a normal occurrence of late. Beside him, Yuri was scowling at his phone and tossing angry glances around the rink whenever Katsuki’s name echoed over the speakers. Mila and Georgi were behaving normally, like humans, which Yakov appreciated and would reward later, provided the pair didn’t fuck it up somehow. 

Unfortunately, the next day took a downward turn - not for Yakov or for any of his skaters, but for Katsuki who had been pale as a ghost and avoiding almost everyone like some kind of phantom that haunted the rink.  
He hadn’t been on the ice for warmups which Yakov found concerning considering he had never let any of his skaters compete without warming up on the ice with some figures at the very least. Celestino had been around though, and seemed okay and not too concerned by his skaters disappearing act, so Yakov had turned his attention to Viktor, trying to get him out of his own head and ready for the ice. 

Katsuki took to the ice second, pale but again, resolute in his determination to win. Yakov watches on the screen in the warmup rooms off rink as Katsuki skates with a new desperation, flying around the ice with the form of a well-trained dancer and the skills of a long-time skater. Yakov wonders whether the desperation stems from wanting to win, or whether it’s linked to whatever it was that had Katsuki vanishing while off the ice. 

It’s not enough to beat Viktor, nor to bump Giacometti from his second place perch, but Katuski manages Fourth place at his first Grand Prix and firmly tucks himself into an old Russian’s mind with his ability to express himself on the ice, the opposite of Yakov’s skaters who rely heavily on technical elements. 

Yakov says as much to Celestino at the banquet later that day, standing together near some sponsors while their skaters mingle with their peers happily, now that the aura of the competition has come and gone.  
Well, Yakov’s are. He can see Mila annoying that Italian boy with his sister, Georgi talking with a pair of ice dancers from Croatia, Yuri scowling at an overeager sponsor (Yakov definitely needs to head that off before it goes too far south), and Viktor is laughing beside Giacometti, holding a flute of champagne and looking more lively than he has in weeks - coincidentally, the same amount of time since his last competition ended and he could see Giacometti. 

Katsuki is harder to spot, but Yakov spies him, holding a flute of champagne and awkwardly lingering near the Korean competitor, who also doesn’t want to socialise. 

“I think we will be parting ways soon,” Celestino admits to Yakov, a few beers in and more chatty. “Yuuri needs someone to push him technically, to boost his confidence. I feel that I have done all that I can do.” 

Yakov is surprised at this admission. Most coaches hold onto their skaters once they make international podiums, they don’t pass them off. Then again, Celestino has always been nice, and he only ever wants the best for his skaters, in both their training and their growth. 

“Do you know who he will skater under?” Yakov asks, watching Yuri turn pink with repressed anger as the sponsor keeps talking, unawares of the bomb they’re toying with. 

Celestino gives Yakov an appraising glance. “I did wonder if you would be interested, Yakov. Your skaters are world class for their technical scores, I believe you could help Yuuri further himself.” 

“I only coach Russians,” Yakov says before he thinks about it properly. 

Celestino laughs. “I know, that’s why I’m considering asking Josef if he would be interested. His older female skater is retiring in a month, so I wonder if he would take on Yuuri. Giacometti does do almost as well as Viktor, after all.” 

Yakov grunts and feels defensive, an unusual feeling for a man who is always right. “Do you think Katsuki could cope with training alongside Giacometti?” He nods towards the Swiss competitor who is draping himself over a blushing waiter and simultaneously pulling a few bills out of his pocket. 

“You may have a point there,” Celestino says, also watching, albeit with less disgust. 

The waiter takes the bills from Giacometti, along with a key card for the hotel. Yakov does not want to know. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says to Celestino. “I make no guarantees however.” 

Yuri turns purple and the sponsor is still talking - Yakov excuses himself to try and prevent the inevitable. 

The next morning holds nothing that Yakov expected. He is expecting to corral his skaters to the airport, usher them through paparazzi, try to keep Yuri from attacking journalists and customs agents - apologise to both when Yuri does fly off the handle, and make sure Viktor hasn’t forgotten his passport (again). 

Except it doesn’t go like that (at least, it doesn’t start like that).

He wakes to Viktor cheerfully letting himself into his room, whistling a tune and holding a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning Yakov! Did you sleep well? I can’t say I did, I got in late and found myself preoccupied!” He’s chattering away happily, the past nine months of quiet depression and lackluster efforts forgotten. 

Yakov props himself up and accepts the coffee. If there’s one thing Viktor is good for, it’s sniffing out the best places to get coffee. “Why are you here?” 

“I simply had to start the day, I’m rejuvenated, Yakov!” Viktor crows, flopping into the armchair that sits in the corner of the room. 

“That is… good to hear,” Yakov says. “What has caused this rejuvenation?” 

“Yuuri, of course!” 

Yakov is confused. “You’ve trained with Yuri for four years now, what’s changed?” If anything, Yakov is certain that there isn’t much of a friendship between the two, with Yuri desperate to nip at Viktor’s heels and Viktor not caring much for the overstated ambition the younger displays. 

“Not Yuri, Yuuri Katsuki, from Japan! He’s simply marvellous, isn’t he? His step sequences are fantastic and his body moves with the music like no other skater I’ve seen - did you see him dance last night?”

Yakov did not see anyone dance because once it became clear that Giacometti had paid the waiter to bring in some sort of portable stripper pole, he deemed the night well enough seen too. With a warning to behave directed at Yuri and Mila, Yakov and a few of the other coaches had left for the night. 

“No, I left before I could witness Giacometti’s stunts,” Yakov tells Viktor who is unsurprised. 

“You should have stayed Yakov. Little Yuri challenged Yuuri Katsuki to a dance off to see who the better Yuri was, clearly Yuuri Katsuki won,” Viktor rambles excitedly. “And then he mentioned that he could pole dance so he and Chris did a lovely little duet, and then he invited me to dance with him - oh Yakov, he can flamenco like a dream, he should really consider pairs skating or dancing…”

Yakov makes the decision to become temporarily deaf as Viktor continues to recount his night with moony eyes and a dopey smile. It’s not a pleasant thought, one of his best skaters being in love, especially seeing how well it keeps working out for Georgi, but Yakov has missed Viktor’s bubbles and cheer over the recent months and if Katsuki is what brings them back, he supposes he can deal with more pining. 

He isn’t sure Yuri will be able to deal, but that’s a bridge to cross later. 

“...And then he asked me to visit him at his family’s inn, it’s called an Onsen in Japan and I searched it when I got back to my room and it has hotsprings, Yakov! Yuuri insisted that they’re great for sore muscles after skating so I’m thinking I’ll book tickets for-”

Yakov becomes un-deaf just in time to catch the escalation of Viktor’s pining - it’s progressing far quicker than he anticipated two minutes ago. “You aren’t going to Japan, Viktor,” he says.

“Why not? Yuuri invited me!” Viktor protests. 

“It’s the middle of the season for one,” Yakov says, holding up a hand when Viktor aims to argue. “And Katsuki doesn’t live in Japan. He trains in Detroit with Cialdini.”

Viktor purses his lips. “I suppose I could book us both tickets and we could share some time off together, I’m sure Yuuri misses his family…”

“No, Viktor,” Yakov says, but the skater isn’t listening. He’s talking about getting Katsuki’s number and arranging flights for as soon as the Japanese boy is available. “Viktor,” Yakov says louder. “Viktor!” 

“What, Yakov? I’m planning my honeymoon,” Viktor snaps, looking up from his phone. Aeroflot’s website is open and Yakov hopes dearly that credit card details haven’t been entered yet. 

“I told Cialdini that I would consider taking Katsuki on. He thinks that Katsuki has outgrown him and would benefit from a more technical based coaching,” Yakov sighs, preparing himself for Viktor to make some alarming demands or to throw himself at Yakov. 

He does neither, instead Viktor stares at Yakov, phone slipping from his grasp to thump gently on the floor. His blue eyes are wide, sparkling, and disconcertingly vague. It’s like looking into the eyes of a cow. 

Yakov wonders warily if he needs to call for a doctor when Viktor is unresponsive after a good minute, but right as he is reaching for the phone on the bedside, Viktor launches himself into the air. 

“This is great news Yakov! I’ll go tell him! You get the paperwork sorted and I can call my lawyer about getting Yuuri a work visa, oh and he’ll need a place to stay-” Viktor jabbers mostly to himself while Yakov gets himself out of bed to find a slipper to club the man over the head with. “- oh what am I thinking, he can stay with me, I’m sure Makka will love him. Now, I’ll just go find his room and let him know that he should cancel his flight - ow! Yakov!” 

Yakov drops his slipper - it’s actually a nice dress shoe Lilia bought him for the ballet and shuffles over to his suitcase. “You’ll do no such thing. Katsuki is still a skater under Cialdini and he might want to stay with him instead of moving to Russia. And I haven’t said that I am going to take him on, I haven’t had much time to think about it.” 

Viktor’s heart audibly breaks and Yakov winces a little bit. “But- but- he’s so promising. He needs more pushing and better coaching in jumps, and there’s no one better to do that than you! You could have medalling skaters from two countries, Yakov! You could make him a better skater than me! You could use his step sequences and spirals as examples for Yuri! You could use him to teach us how to be emotional with our programs! You could walk me down the aisle at our wedding,” Viktor ends his plea quietly and Yakov sighs again. 

“I’ll consider it,” he says. “Now get out, I want to shower before I have breakfast and then have to somehow get all of you back to Saint Petersburg in one piece.” Viktor seems reluctant to leave, shuffling and unhappy with the lack of instant gratification. “I heard Katsuki has a flight soon, he’s probably getting breakfast before he has to leave for the airport-”

Viktor has left the room and opened the door to the stairwell before Yakov has finished speaking. He isn’t even sure Katuski’s leaving today, but it got rid of Viktor faster than anything else he’s ever tried. 

Perhaps Katsuki could be a good addition to his rink.


	2. Surface of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri arrives in Russia and meets his neighbour! Makka meets a new friend.

Three weeks after placing fourth at the Sochi Grand Prix, and disembarking in Saint Petersburg, Yuuri Katsuki feels like he’s on the surface of the moon. 

He’s jetlagged for one, and drugged on anxiety medications because he hasn’t slept in three days out of nerves for another. 

Celestino had spoken to him in his rarely used office at their rink once they were both back in Detroit. At first Yuuri was worried that he’d done something wrong, disappointed Ciao Ciao or forgotten to pay important fees. But then Ciao Ciao in his normal, kind fashion, had simply told him that he feels that Yuuri has outgrown him. 

He said that he was incredibly proud of Yuuri, on behalf of himself, of the skate club, and of Yuuri because he knew that Yuuri struggled to embrace his achievements and always compared himself to people more impressive. 

Yuuri had flailed for a moment, dropped in an ocean without a boat or paddle. He needed a coach for competitions, he needed a coach for training - he needed a fucking rink to train at and that mean’t renegotiating with Ciao Ciao or finding a new coach with an established club. Not to mention it was the middle of the season and the adjustment period at a new rink with a new coach would be a killer, oh christ he was winding himself up even more. 

Ciao Ciao noticed his rising panic and grasped his hands over the table, untangling them and laying them flat. “I wouldn’t leave you high and dry, Yuuri, surely you know that-” great, now Yuuri was panicking because he’d offended his coach- “so I have asked around and there are some very good coaches who would be happy to take you on.”

Yuuri’s head shot up at that. Coaches want him? Ciao Ciao must have left out his various mental illnesses to make him seem more appealing. “Really?” 

His coach chuckled. “Of course Yuuri, you’re very talented and almost medalled at the Grand Prix.” 

“Oh,” said Yuuri. 

Ciao Ciao pulled out a small stack of papers, contracts and profiles by the looks of it. On the top is a photo of - is that Christophe Giacometti’s coach? Surely Yuuri isn’t good enough for that level of coaching. 

“Now I have four coaches who all have available slots for you, but unfortunately only one of them is here in the States, and no one I contacted in Japan was able to guarantee you a spot at their rinks,” Ciao Ciao begins, shuffling the papers and pulling out a thin stack in particular and offering it to Yuuri. “But this is the one I think you should go with. You will flourish, Yuuri. It will be a big change, but it is nothing you have not done before…” Ciao Ciao keeps talking, but Yuuri is starstruck, taking in the papers in front of him.

Yakov Feltsman wants to train him. One of the most successful figure skating coaches of the decade has seen worth and promise in Yuuri Katsuki. 

Yuuri Katsuki, who performed only averagely for his short program, and spent most of his free skate praying for his dog to get better. 

About an hour after the short program, Mari had called him. It was loud, so Yuuri squirrelled himself away in a bathroom cubicle like some sort of antisocial freak to take the phone call. Vicchan hadn’t eaten in two days and was behaving lethargically, so Mari and Hiroko had taken him to the vet.   
Vicchan was diagnosed with a nasty bladder infection, but it was caught so late that his fate wasn’t certain. The vet promised them nothing, but assured Mari that Vicchan would be well taken care of at their facility until he was better. 

Yuuri cried with guilt. Who leaves their beloved pet for five years to study overseas and despite travelling for competitions, never once makes it back home to see them? A monster, that’s who. 

On the morning of the free skate, Yuuri hadn’t slept. Instead he spent the night watching his phone in case Mari sent an update about Vicchan. He kept ducking out of press filled rooms and warmups around other competitors to check his phone. He didn’t even send Phichit a photo of Viktor’s ass like he’d promised to because he was so busy ducking out to check his phone that he never saw Viktor. 

Desperation fueled his performance. And then, half an hour after his freeskate, Mari called and said that Vicchan had perked up overnight, that the prognosis was good. 

But Yuuri still needed to erase the monster, he needed to go home. 

“I- I don’t know, Ciao Ciao, Coach Feltsman only trains the best and Russia is a long way away…” Yuuri is splitting in two. An opportunity like this could change his career - but it’s a long commitment that Coach Feltsman is asking for, another three years away from his family. An image of silver hair laughing as he’s being dipped flashed through Yuuri’s mind. 

He’d daydreamed of the banquet since he’d left the hotel in Sochi that night for a late flight back to America. Russia meant Viktor, again at last. His memories of the banquet were alcohol-hazy but warm, like a body pressed to his and a nose nuzzling his cheek in a corner. 

“Yakov, that is, Coach Feltsman has a place you can stay, and is willing to offer you a trial of three months. If either of you feel like it’s not working out at any point in time, he will waive the remaining coaching fees and help you find a new coach,” Ciao Ciao said. 

Yuuri looked at the papers. The fee wasn’t extravagant as he feared it would be, instead it was quite reasonable for a coach of such prestige. Only a little more than what Ciao Ciao charged, with a drop in rates once Yuuri starts medalling. 

Yuuri balked at that. Yakov was so certain that he could get Yuuri to medal that he would write it into his contract like this?

“And Yuuri? The place Yakov has for you to stay allows pets,” Ciao Ciao adds.

It’s probably impulsive, definitely one of the biggest decisions he’s ever made, but Yuuri is sold immediately. The pros suddenly outweigh the cons because Vicchan is worth three whole pros alone. 

Yuuri decided to move to Russia - after picking up Vicchan.

The intense feeling of being on the moon is only made worse by the Cyrillic written everywhere. It’s so jarringly unfamiliar that Yuuri creeps past signs and advertisements like they might jump out at him. He ducks into a bathroom before customs and immigration to rinse his face and wash off the high, paranoid expression that’s settled on his features. 

He doesn’t fancy a cavity search on his first day in Russia. 

Once he’s bravely cleared all the bureaucratic bullshit and had his belongings scrutinised under xray, once he’s prayed that his dildo won’t be noticed too badly and walked through a metal detector twice - it didn’t like his belt - Yuuri is free and clear to pick up his luggage and enter the country properly. 

A gruff phone call before he left for Russia with his new coach confirmed that Yakov would be picking him up from the airport, so Yuuri is on the lookout for the broad shoulders that he has never met in person. 

Happily, Yakov is easy to spot and has seen him as well, probably because Yuuri is the only Asian athlete to have been on the flight. 

“Hello Coach Feltsman, thank you for agreeing to take me on and train me,” Yuuri greets him with a fumbled bow. 

Yakov doesn’t seem to know how to react to such politeness, so he nods his head and shakes Yuuri’s hand. “Yakov Feltsman. If you work hard and do me proud, you’ll make sure I don’t regret training you,” he wisely says. 

Yuuri nods frantically. 

“You said you had a dog? Come, we will discuss training matters tomorrow at the rink, for now, we will pick up your dog and I will take you to your flat,” Yakov takes him around the shoulders and sweeps him away from the crowds, leading Yuuri to a small desk in a little alcove. 

A pleasant woman relays some information with Yakov, and Yuuri presents Vicchan’s paperwork without prompting. It’s checked over and then the dog carrier is retrieved from somewhere behind a closed door with scary looking Cyrillic written on it. 

While they wait, Yakov looks at Yuuri. “Viktor wanted to pick you up from the airport, you know,” he says in rough English. Yuuri looks up at him, a mixture of flattered and horrified. “You made quite the impression on him at the Grand Prix. Idiot hasn’t stopped talking about you since.”

“I’m… I’m sorry?” Yuuri tries out. 

Yakov shrugs. “It’s no bother. Viktor was bored until he met you, you’ve sparked something missing I think,” he says. “I didn’t let him pick you up though, because he is a terrible driver. Not one power pole left in Piter that he hasn’t smashed his car into. I wanted you to at least make it to the rink alive tomorrow.”

Yuuri snorts. “So I shouldn’t get in a car with him?” he jokes. 

Yakov smirks a little. “You can, but you take your life in your own hands.” 

At that point, the woman returns with Vicchan’s carrier, a little chocolate coloured muzzle snuffling through the front mesh. Yuuri gratefully takes it and sets it down. 

“Ah, spasibo?” he sounds out nervously. 

“Pozhaluysta!” the woman cheerfully replies. Apparently he made sense. Yuuri gives himself a mental gold sticker. 

He gets Vicchan’s leash from his bag and lets the little dog out, sneaking in a quick cuddle while making sure his pet isn’t too upset from the flight. 

When he stands, Yakov has one of his suitcases in hand and is watching the little poodle with a suspiciously knowing expression. Yuuri looks away with a vibrant blush and picks the carrier up, possibly too roughly because Vicchan whines from inside. 

The drive from the airport to Yuuri’s new flat is quiet and quick because Yakov needed to get back to the rink and Yuuri’s flight had been delayed. “I don’t want to leave Yuri - Plisetsky that is - unsupervised for too long. He has talent and ambition but sometimes too much of both and the last thing I need is him breaking something because then I have to deal with it,” Yakov explained as he put Yuuri’s suitcase in the back of the car. 

Saint Petersburg is filled with snow, positively blanketed in white banks and flurries. The skies overhead are cloudy and grey, heavy with more ‘white bullshit’ according to Yakov. 

“All the more reason not to drive with Viktor,” he says. “He’s only good on ice if he has skates on, in a car, not so much.” 

It’s not a long commute from the airport to Yuuri’s new flat, an old brick building that looks to have been renovated in recent years. Yakov helps him get his things from the car and to the elevator. The front door has an entrance code that Yakov hands him on a slip of paper along with the general rent agreements. 

There’s only one problem Yuuri can see. “Uh, Coach Feltsman? There’s no price here, I don’t know what I’m paying in rent,” he nervously points out.

Oh god, what if it had been written somewhere and Yuuri had just forgotten? Or not seen? And now he’ll look like a total idiot, he might as well get back on a plane - Yakov can probably call him a taxi to the airport-

“Your rent has been covered for the first three months you are here,” Yakov tells him. There’s a dusting of snow on his hat from their short trip from the car to the foyer of the building. 

Yuuri reels back. “What? By who? I haven’t asked anyone to-”

“Calm yourself Yuuri. One of the rink sponsors was very interested in you training here. He made it his mission to make sure you have an easy time adjusting so that you can focus on training,” Yakov says. And on him Yakov adds silently, eyes cast upwards where he can practically hear Viktor’s excited pacing seven floors up. “I believe he has left you directions to the rink in your kitchen.”

Yakov knew Viktor had left more than that. He told Yakov first about the bouquet, then about the tourist brochures. After that he mentioned a bus pass and a cute tea set that he ‘couldn’t resist’. Then a set of new headphones. Yakov, well out of his depth with lovestruck loons, ended up drawing the line at a wad of rubles (“but what if he hasn’t exchanged any money yet, Yakov?”) and an honest to god promise ring. 

He hands Yuuri the key to his apartment. “Floor seven, apartment B,” he turns to leave, wanting to escape before Viktor caught wind of Yuuri’s presence or Yuuri realised who he was living next door to. He turned back slightly to see Yuuri set Vicchan’s carrier down in the elevator and pull his suitcases in after him. Just before the doors closed Yakov added, “If you need anything, Viktor’s just across the hall.” 

He pretended he didn’t hear the panicked yelp from the elevator as he left the building. 

Yuuri peered into the hall before he exited the elevator, wary of running into any Figure Skating Legends while he looked like a toasted raccoon. Vicchan huffed in his carrier. 

Seeing no one around, Yuuri cautiously stepped out with his luggage, and found his new front door. Quickly, in case someone saw him, he unlocked the door and threw it open, kicking one of his suitcases in so that it slid over the polished wood floor and left his hands free for Vicchan and the other suitcase. 

A pale hand suddenly met the wall beside his head. 

Yuuri shrieked and lunged backwards in shock, tripping on Vicchan’s carrier and stumbling drunkenly to keep from falling clean on his ass. 

“Fuck me!” he yelled in fright, clutching his chest. 

Viktor grinned at him, leaning forward eagerly. “Oh no, fuck me,” he replied as though they were in some regency era novella and had bumped into each other at the market and he had spilled oranges needed for the dinner his lord father was hosting that evening - Yuuri's analogy got away from him as they often do with Viktor.

Yuuri felt his heart slow, but not too much because Viktor was in front of him, sober, and he was also sober, and he still looked so happy to see him. Yuuri wondered if he was standing in front of someone else and quickly checked. 

Viktor laughed. “I have missed you, Yuuri,” he said. “I didn’t even get your number.” His pout was dangerous, Yuuri noticed. 

“I missed you too,” he shyly answered. 

While the humans mooned over each other in the hallway, Makkachin ventured out of Viktor’s apartment, her favourite jellyfish toy in her mouth for company. Attracted first by the noise, she quickly smells another dog close by and wanders over to have a look. Through the mesh of one of those dreadfully uncomfortably airline crates, a little black nose pokes out. 

She snuffles around, ignoring the humans talking over her head, and wags her tail. A friend for her! Makkachin liked friends, other than Viktor she had the small blond human and the taller blond human and the large male with the thin female, and the grey and brown cat named Potya, but Potya didn’t like her very much; but Makkachin had never had a proper dog friend! 

She presses her own nose to the crate, which is far smaller than her own. Her friend must be tiny, she thinks. It can’t be nice in there either, so she paws at the grid to open it, but she isn’t very successful. 

The humans pause their talking over her head before picking up again, this time in a tone Makka knows means they’re excited. Viktor hasn’t sounded like this for a while, but some weeks ago he picked Makka up from the kennel and ever since he’s been chattering to her a lot more. The new human, who Makkachin feels bad for not greeting yet, bends down and opens the crate for her, letting her new friend out into the hall. 

He is smaller than her, and a darker colour too, but his eyes are friendly and he immediately play bows to Makka and nudges her jellyfish toy. 

Oh yes, Makka likes her new friend.


End file.
